A Nellie year-in-review

This morning I remembered my verse for 2007. I was so down a year ago, and with good reason. It was the season of "breakup and breakdown." I was heartbroken and body-broken. My first real boyfriend had just broken up with me, and I was so exhausted I missed almost all my Christmas parties, and my doctor could only say "eat better and exercise more."

Life was so depressing as it was, that I needed to believe that things could change, for the better, that God could still do miracles. That He was the God of Surprises. That when my life felt over and the future was like gaping into a black hole (I'll never forget feeling that way), that somewhere God was working in secret, cooking up a surprise for His beloved. So I chose Ephesians 3:20 out of sheer desperation and willed it to be true.

God always fulfills the verse I pick for a new year, often, if not always, with a twist I never expected. I would think the verse meant one thing, but by the end of the year I'd realized a deeper meaning that usually involved less of earthly stuff and whatever I'd wanted it to mean, and more of God and receiving more of Him.

Once again that happened this year. In this very moment actually. I looked at the verse again a second ago and a different set of words stood out to me. Ohhh.... I always focused on the "do far above my hopes and dreams" part. But the Amplified Version says just before that: "is able to carry out His purpose...." Hmm, that is it, isn't it? Not that by trying real hard God can muster up enough might and goodness to bump reality up a few notches above my dreams and desires. But that He has a purpose, and it's already way out in front of my slummy mud-pie dreams, and He is able to bring it to pass. His purpose. And He will!

And He did. He's redeeming my body: I've regained much of my energy, and can't believe how much better I'm feeling (as I recover from adrenal fatigue and low thyroid). And even more exciting, He's redeemed my heart, in the person of my "superabundantly, far over and above" boyfriend Steve. And even more ginormous, He's proved Himself to me yet again, that He is enough and all I need, and if I just hang with Him I'll be okay. He really does give strength for each day...or each shuffle down the metro platform when I thought I was going to faint.

But His purpose is still far above mine. I didn't expect to have to make such radical dietary and work and lifestyle changes or become such an introvert this year. But He's using those changes, those little deaths actually, to set me free from obsession over my weight, over-commitment, basing my worth on performance, and people-pleasing and insecurity. The first time I met Steve, I didn't see in him the "man of my dreams." But he has consistently surprised me with his affectionate ways, uprightness and desire to guard my heart, ability to see and know the real me, openness to saying and hearing whatever needs to be said, sense of humor, willingness to enter my world, desire for accountability and instruction, and...unexpected visits at Christmastime!, etc.

His purpose is to set me free. His purpose is to give me joy. His purpose is to enable me to become what He created me to be.

A few nights ago, our family was watching a Christian "movie" called The Perfect Stranger, where Jesus invites this woman to dinner and over the course of the meal she goes from antagonist to convert. We eventually had to fast-forward because we couldn't handle the cheese. But one thing "Jesus" said has stuck with me ever since: "There's a difference between 'heaven' and 'eternal life.' Heaven is a place. Eternal life is a Person. Heaven is the place where God lives, but eternal life starts when God lives in you.... When Jesus offered eternal life to His followers, He was offering Himself."

If that's God's purpose, and He is able to do it, then I'll take it!

Now to Him Who, by (in consequence of) the [action of His] power that is at work within us, is able to [carry out His purpose and] do superabundantly, far over and above all that we [dare] ask or think [infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts, hopes, or dreams]--

To Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations forever and ever. Amen (so be it). Ephesians 3:20-21, Amplified

p.s.

And an hour later I burned my tongue on the chicken soup. Back to earth for Nellie. I guess we still live in a fallen world afterall.

Thankfulness soup

You know those moments when everything in your life combines just right and for a solid minute your heart is caught up in the praise to God it should feel constantly? Like when the last ingredient gets stirred into the soup and the aroma fills your nose until you can't inhale anymore. And you want to just keep smelling, but it's not the same.

That just happened for me. I'm still in my pajamas, making chicken soup and discovering again how much I like to cook, how therapeutic it is, and getting those fuzzy feelings of well-being every time I chop another carrot or catch a whiff of broth.

As if that wasn't enough to thrill my heart, I got a job today. It's official. I start my office/receptionist job at Eagle Publishing next Monday. I needed another part-time job after nannying comes to a sad end this week (baby's mom's job is ending), and this one is perfect: just afternoons 5 days a week, with nice people and low-stress work, an easy commute and great location (by Union Station), a chance to learn more about publishing and conservative ideals and support an organization I believe in.

The best ingredient in my soup however is the fact that Steve is taking me out to dinner tonight for our six-month (dating) anniversary. He's the best! And God's sweetest surprise of this surprising year.

Add Amy Grant's "Grown Up Christmas List" (while reading The Kite Runner) to the mix, and an extra dash of God's presence, and you have the perfect recipe for happy tears and a thankful heart.

Redemption is better than perfection

...otherwise God would never have put the tree in the Garden of Eden, or allowed sin into His perfect world.

How can I be more of a perfectionist than God?

Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers

Have y'all read this book? I guess it came out a decade ago, and I'd heard people rave about it, but I just hadn't gotten around to buying and reading it.

That's what sisters are for! Kerry read it and raved about it, but she was also generous enough to lend it to me and leave me with no excuse for not reading it.

I thought it might be another cheesy Christian book, but I opened to the first page...and never put it down (except to do all the necessary things in life). My boyfriend Steve can attest that I have become it's biggest raver of all.

I have never (and I grew up in a Christian home and worked for two churches) seen the Gospel portrayed so vividly. And I do mean seen. It takes a story to paint the Gospel, doesn't it? And this story, an allegory of the Book of Hosea, of a pure and upright man marrying a prostitute, comes close to doing Redemption justice. The contrast is so stark between innocence and defilement, humility and stiff-neckedness, selflessness and self-loathing. And when you see God in the former and yourself in the latter, over and over, it breaks your heart.

I think I shed a tear for every 10 pages of this book. There it was again, the love of God! Seeing me in the brothel, binding Himself to me, taking me home with Him, washing me and caring for me, anguishing when I go back to my sin, and going out to find and rescue me again (and again, and again).

Now that I'm finished, I miss Angel and Michael and Miriam, and I wish I could find out how they're doing. If you haven't read it, read it. If you have, read it again.

(Thanks B!)

Don't be so

It hit me this morning. Finally.

I'd had a horrible morning yesterday. One bad thing let to another, that seemed out of my control. I couldn't get up in the morning because I have fatigue. So I was late leaving for work. So I got stuck on construction traffic on Rock Creek Parkway. So I had to make up time when I finally broke free 45 minutes later. So I had to yell at the slow driver in front of me on Spout Run, and race around him when we finally got two lanes. So I got a ticket. So I melted into hot tears and blamed God the rest of the way to work. And all morning. I'm such a victim!

It was annoying that I instantly realized that slow car was "mercy"...God's direct intervention to KEEP me from getting a ticket, because He knew the cop was around the corner, sitting in her mustang cop car. But that just rubbed salt in my wound.

I felt like life was caving in, and I just couldn't handle being sick with fatigue anymore, and God was rubbing it in my face.

As the day went on, I mellowed of course. And by evening at Bible study, we were on speaking terms. But it finally hit me this morning...the lesson He was (lovingly) trying to teach me.

DownHere has a song called "Don't Be So," and it was written for me. Stevo put the intro on my phone as the text alert, so it's been stuck in my head for the last 24 hours. One line struck me this morning as I made breakfast. "...Cuz it's not we, and it's not you who's going to save the day." Oops, I was trying to save the day again.

You know how at work when a coworker takes over part of your job description and totally disregards that that task belongs to you, you know how you feel? Threatened, angry, disrespected, not to mention convinced it will fail in their hands. Well, God must feel the same way when I try to save myself. When I take on my problems (that He allowed) as my own. It's just so obvious now, that all morning I was looking to myself to get me to work on time and save the day for everyone, never pausing to look up and ask for help.

Thanks Lord (through gritted teeth and reluctant heart) for saving me from false-savior Nellie.

Tribute to three years at Grace DC

[this third and final essay I dedicate to my beloved fellow staff members with
Grace DC]

Select some experience from which you have derived exceptional benefit and describe it, explaining its value to you.

It’s 1:35, and I’m hustling along my favorite strip of Pennsylvania Avenue SE. But its cafes and bookstore and happy lunchtime crowd of Hill staffers is lost on me as I scurry to my appointment, late again.

As I enter the Starbucks on the corner, “our Starbucks” as labeled by me and my coworkers, I breeze past the ever-present line and busy baristas. Up the back stairs I climb to the second floor, and voila, I’m only the third person there. Phew, beat the boss.

It’s that time of the week again, staff meeting.

Staff meetings in my experience have been as varied as the organizations and bosses I have worked for. Often they have been stiff, tedious affairs where only my enjoyment of my coworkers’ individual personalities and my own optimism has kept me coming. Not that I had a choice.

But staff meeting at Starbucks has been different. The church for which I work did not own office space for its first three years of existence, and I and my coworkers officed out of our homes. Where else would we meet but the coffee shop? And what better place would represent the whole staff meeting experience for us?

It was the highlight of my week, and my coworkers became my primary community in DC. We would gather together, banter and laugh, share stories and reports of the workweek or from our personal lives. Our boss would assign books at various times that we would read during the week and discuss together, books about Washington DC or about personal growth. And later we would go over the business at hand.

It was this group of true friends to whom I could voice struggles that I could barely admit to myself. It was to them I went for help and advice and prayer. More Starbucks napkins wiped tears than coffee spills, and that’s saying a lot.

“What stood out to you in this section of the book?” Glenn, my boss would ask, creating a freedom to expound disagreements and insights. This freedom carried over into our prayer time where we could share what was going on in our lives under the surface of efficiency and smiles. Such authenticity on a leadership level trickles down to the entire church congregation, not to mention the healthy staff culture and strong friendships it sustains.

Our Starbucks days are over now that we have office space, but staff meeting and the “coffee shop atmosphere” are going strong. And now that we’re thrown together in the office five days a week, the foundation of respect and openness is showing up in compatibility, equality, and true enjoyment of one another. I may be sick of Starbucks coffee by now, but thanks to their store on Pennsylvania Avenue, I’m by no means sick of my coworkers.

Gift of limits

[this one is ironic, considering it talks about limits and my adrenal fatigue, which very things led to my withdrawal from the College : }]

Choose some book that has been important in shaping and deepening your thoughts. Discuss and develop a single aspect of it (not the book as a whole) that you consider to be particularly significant.

...Among the most influential books I’ve read, The Emotionally Healthy Church by Peter Scazzero is a recent example of a book that changed the way I think and thus live my life. I have adopted it as my “life manifesto” and purposed to reread it regularly. One chapter that was revolutionary for me a year ago when I read it, and has continued to bear fruit in my life in the form of some considerable breakthroughs, is “Principle 4: Receive the Gift of Limits.” It explains how in our desire to help people and make our own lives significant, human nature tends to take responsibility for the people around us beyond our own abilities, schedule, priorities, and even health. And we overextend or misapply who we are and what we are meant to do in this world by trying to prove something, maintain an image, please people, and right all wrongs. In short, we end up playing God by thinking we can “save” ourselves, the people around us, and even the world. We deny our limitations or try to overcome them in our headlong rush to fix everything, not realizing that limitations are a gift to remind us that we cannot fix everything, and are not expected to…and will die trying if we do.

This was a revelation to me a year ago because during the last decade of full-time nonprofit work and volunteer service, I have largely labored out of those misapprehensions. I allowed myself to be controlled by other people’s needs and neediness, instead of deciding what I could give and where to draw the line, and sticking to it. Guilt and fear were among my motivations for service. I compared myself with those around me for my sense of approval and rightness. I sacrificed my body on the altar of whatever I thought, or my boss thought, needed to be done and was the willing subject of Tyrant Urgency.

For someone to tell me it was okay to have limitations, that they were something not simply to be borne but embraced, as a source of peace and direction and dependency on God and others, was radical and refreshing to a weary soul. And I let this truth begin to change my thinking and renew my mind and perspective on life and service. Not only did I start letting myself off the hook and stop trying so hard, but I had the freedom to do the same for others, and allow those around me to fail, be human, be late, be messy, and basically be accountable to God for their lives alone as I was for mine alone. The control freak loosened her grasp.

In recent weeks I have been relearning this lesson, but on a deeper level than a year ago. Although I have made progress in embracing my limitations and letting go, I am now realizing just how extensive and deeply rooted is this tendency throughout my personality and lifetime. I am appalled and amazed. As the oldest child in my family, I tended to overprotect my siblings or take on my parents' burdens that were too heavy for me. My seventh grade birthday party was a flop because I was so worried my friends weren’t having a good time and it was my job to make sure they did. In high school I felt so responsible to be a good example to my peers that reputation management and fear constricted my personality. Even now, I find myself apologizing too often, blaming myself for unmet needs outside my jurisdiction, and rushing around as if the world depended on my perfect and timely execution of everything on my to-do list.

Thus enters upon the stage a limitation enemy turned friend: Janel’s Unconquerable Fatigue of 2006. In searching for remedies and answers for an exhaustion I could not explain or overcome, I started reading The Hidden Link Between Adrenaline and Stress, which surprisingly built upon the principles in The Emotionally Healthy Church. Also surprising is a change in my thinking that it brought about, which strongly influenced me to consider attending college at this season in my life. As arrogant as it sounds, deep down I believed the world “needed” me to stay in full-time nonprofit service because of my contributions to it and its needs. Suddenly I am not only set free to pursue personal enrichment (which will hopefully benefit others someday of course, but not “right now” as Urgency demands), but I see it as necessary to discovering who I am and developing my gifts and proving to myself that the world will get along just fine “without me.” Yes, my well-meaning arrogance is glaringly exposed when I put it like that. And how freeing exposure can be!

Road less traveled

[reading back over my college application essays from last winter, I realized they tell my story pretty well, and thought I'd stick them on Snatchlings just for kicks. this is the first one.]

Explain in detail why you wish to attend St. John's College; please evaluate the strengths and weaknesses of your formal education to date.

First of all, allow me to say thank you for recognizing the pressures inherent to academics and the filling out of applications, and for putting prospective students at ease in saying that perfection is not expected. I find that attitude refreshing, humanizing, and further confirming that St. John’s is uniquely intentional in fostering an atmosphere truly conducive to personal growth and enrichment.

Speaking of unique, I myself would undoubtedly fall into that category. I took “the road less traveled,” and it certainly has made all the difference. In my outlook on life, experiences, relationships, values; most of who I am today, actually. I am thirty-one years old, and have not yet been to college. I have worked for a Georgia State Representative and for a Member of Congress, advised and developed programs for mayors and city leaders on innovative community initiatives, compiled and designed an 80-page book that has been translated into six languages and has sold 85,000 copies worldwide, mentored juvenile delinquents and tutored inner city kids, and helped start a thriving church in the District of Columbia. All without a college degree.

However, I had no idea where my road would take me, and certainly never envisioned the above. I was simply acting on faith and the information I had at the time. Upon graduating from high school, I had been accepted to five good colleges with partial scholarships from each. Nevertheless college tuition would have been a financial strain on my family, since my dad had lost his job the year before, and at that same time my family was becoming involved with a nonprofit organization, which college-aged students were dropping out of college to attend. So I decided to put off college and join this nonprofit program for a year. During that time I was more happy, free, and fulfilled than perhaps ever before. Thus I chose to stay in that program for what turned into eight adventurous, growth-inspiring years.

Several times have I applied to various colleges, and several times have I been accepted only to be suddenly rerouted by the hand of Providence into some unforeseen adventure. In honoring God and His timing for my life, I believe He has honored me by providing enriching relationships and opportunities I would not have had by “following the herd” to college or high-paying jobs, simply because the “herd” was doing it.

However. However. I loved academics in high school, and my Latin teacher was appalled that I wasn’t going to college. Although I received an outstanding high school education, there is so much I want to know about the history of the world, the great minds that shaped it, and the why’s of things. I would originally have majored in English and minored in history, and find that I would still do just that, except that my interests have grown to encompass government, philosophy, psychology, and language. Sometimes I wonder where I am deficient in knowledge my contemporaries may have, and sometimes, honestly, I wonder if I made the right choice that summer out of high school. Most of all, I have a lust for life and learning. While recognizing that the latter comes through infinite media in the world around us over the span of a lifetime, I acknowledge the value of an intense, set-apart season of study and discussion in the universe of the university…as long as that universe is not divorced from the real one.

I do not “need” a degree in the sense that I have gotten along quite well without one for over thirteen years, and do not currently intend to pursue professional or trade certification. However, I need to develop and use my gifts to the fullest. I need to enrich my mind and soul for enrichment’s own sake and for the journey ahead. And suddenly I need to devour great books and write papers and discuss and form opinions and listen and grow and change and become!

St. John’s is both the beginning and the end of that recently-felt need. Its unique curriculum has reignited my passion for learning and will also fulfill it, should I be admitted. Its approach to learning and love for freedom and connection to reality all combine to convince me that perhaps this is what I was meant to wait for. And I trust it will be worth the wait.

Cast all yur cares

I hit forward on my email and pass the problem on to the next person and delete it from my inbox, never to trouble myself about it again. All the time. Every day.

Why can't I forward each of my problems to God and hit delete?

The streams on earth I've tasted

Perhaps the more I learn to see and hear and appreciate beauty on earth, the more wowed I will be by heaven. Perhaps earth is an art appreciation course for heaven.

I feel heaven at the most random times. It's always a surprise, and can never be contrived. I can't demand a sign, but I can wait for one, hope for one, be ready for one. A sign that beauty is all around us, and there's so much more to be discovered, and that I'm not crazy to look for it, and that it's seeking me and wants to enrapture me.

That part of the Pirates II soundtrack bursting through my iPod and adding a spring to my jogging steps. The lushness of my "babies" blooming away in their pots on the balcony. The curiously random yet orderly spread of elm branches which can only be seen by one who dares to lie in the grass and look up. Beauty is found in the smallest of things. The cracks in heaven's wall are tiny slivers and require creeping up close and pressing one eye to the hole.

We were made for euphoria, but for now we get crumbs and teasers. Let us feast on these and follow our noses for more.

The way of escape

I was at our staff retreat this past weekend (no work, all play, don't worry!), and we were reading and talking about suffering, as many of us have had a very hard year. We'd read a piece by Joni Erickson Tada about her accident and subsequent journey from anger at God to peace. The turning point for her was not the gobs of friends who sat by her hospital bed and read the Bible to her, but when her friend Jackie snuck into her room after hours, snuggled up next to her in her bed, and held her hand...holding it up so Joni could see her squeeze it, since she couldn't feel it. It was love that opened Joni's heart and suddenly she didn't need answers to all of her questions.

We started highlighting the points of the story that were meaningful for us. True to (awkward?) form, I wanted to make the discussion real, so I blurted out (through tears, ugh) something about how on Thursday I'd been so done with the work day
and I'd lugged the bulletins all the way to Kinkos
and stood there for 10 minutes (because they always take so long)
and then they told me the folder was broken
and I just stared at the guy
and...it was the last straw
and I had a meltdown with God
and told Him exactly what I thought of my life and how He was treating me,
and then I somehow found peace.
But my real question had nothing to do with bulletins but life: “how do I deal with suffering when life doesn’t let up and I can’t seem to find rest for my soul?”

We all kind of sat there after my blurt, until Glenn said something to try to comfort me. And Jean Baldwin sought me out afterward with words of deep understanding and wisdom. But I spent the rest of the weekend obsessing about how I'd made things awkward and piled my junk on other people and should try to be more sensitive next time.

However, blurts get God's attention. And His help, His breakthroughs, His peace. David knew it, and I am learning it.

During Glenn's sermon Sunday night God whispered “the answer” (really just His love, like Jackie) through I Corinthians 10:13. In every trial and every temptation, He not only has measured it out according to what I can handle, but embedded in the trial is a “way of escape.” It’s there. He always puts it there. And I can look for it. I must look for it. It will get me through. Kind of like a treasure hunt, the search for the golden Way of Escape. Follow the yellow brick road.

But the main point is...His love. I get most upset because I think the trial reveals He doesn’t care, that He’s trying to hurt me, that I really am all alone in this world and have to fend for myself. But if the trial is a Hand-crafted work of love for my benefit, how much more is the way of escape? How much more would He be designing a specific mercy, or a heap of mercies—and lessons and truths and illuminations—to lavish on me through the ordeal and afterward. I was so humbled by my lack of faith, attributing to God un-love, even indifference and malice (though it sure feels like that sometimes, eh? How to balance His sovereignty with the presence of evil...another question for the universe).

“In all their affliction, He was afflicted; and the angel of His presence saved them...” (Isaiah 63:9)

Constant entertainment...for free

I think I'm gonna keep a running list of the bizarre people I see on the street every day in DC. (You inspired me to do this tonight, T...not because you're bizarre, but because we talked about it.) Feel free to add yur own in the comments section! (obviously some of you feel freer than others...T!)

[at 9th and Penn] a lady with hiking/skiing poles, just walking along the sidewalk and using them to help her hike the sites

[by the Washington Monument] a guy riding a bike that was three times as tall as any person walking by, like a clown...how did he even get up on the seat, let alone keep his balance?

[at 7th and Indiana] a perfectly normal college-aged guy in t-shirt and jeans quoting Hamlet's soliloque (or something Shakespeare) with drama and passion, to no one

[walking up 7th to the Chinatown metro] one of those Vikings from the Capital One commercials...I'm seeeerious

32 year old freshman!

A week ago yesterday I got a call that changed my life. And a week ago today I made a road trip that will become my daily commute.

Every 3-5 years I apply to whatever college seems best for me. Just as I did my senior year of high school, although at that time I decided to forgo scholarships from five schools in order to do full-time ministry. And I kept making that decision.

So this past winter I applied to St. John's College in Annapolis because they have the best "great books" program, and I am all about great books. However, the tuition was super steep, and if I didn't get a miraculous chunk o' cash, I knew the whole idea was preposterous. Then, I was diagnosed with adrenal fatigue, so my entire life appeared to be on hold for years to come.

So I tossed aside the letter from St. John's saying I was eligible for a humongous grant...if only they had the money in hand. And I checked the box "stay on the waiting list for this fall" because it was the only free option, and I wasn't gonna pay a $300 deposit for something that wasn't gonna happen anyway.

Then, two weeks ago, the call came. I even ignored the call and said with disdain under my breath, thinking it was a work call, "don't bother me on my lunch break."

It was St. John's telling me my patience had come to fruition and I'd received the humongous grant. Patience? I had totally given up. And once again, God resurrected my dream and got all the glory.

So I decided I should probably visit the school, did so the next day, and by the time I left I knew I couldn't turn down this opportunity.

So here I go!

Annapolis is only 30 minutes from DC, with no traffic (the wildcard). So my plan at least for now is to commute and keep living in DC, going to my church, maybe working PT for them, and keep getting to hang out with my friends. (I'll need some my own age!)

It is a unique school (why else would I be going there?) in that everyone goes through the same program and comes out with a BA in Philosophy. You read all the great books of philosophy that have shaped history, starting with the ancient Greeks (and learning the ancient Greek language to boot) up to the present day over four years. Everyone reads these books, or portions of them, and gathers to discuss them twice a week with the same group of 18 or so fellow students. The rest of the curriculum revolves around that core with the philosophy of math and science, language, and music. Oh and there are no tests or exams, just lots of papers. The professors are called "tutors" and the ratio is 8 to 1 as they strive to be super-accessible for one-on-one discussion. The goal of the college is to expose the student to the great works and allow him to hammer out for himself what he believes and learn to articulate it.

This is my college story so far. And I'm sure they'll be lots of entertaining mini-dramas to come.

His care in my carelessness

When I pulled into my parking space at church tonight, there was a wallet sitting on the trunk of my car. On top of the trunk. Teetering on the edge. It was mine.

Right where I'd left it.

I exploded in a short nervous laugh. Then a sober, "whoa...Lord...uh, thank You..."

Then I remembered. I'd placed it there four blocks ago when I was putting the bulletins in the back seat of my car outside the Kinkos at 7th and K. I can't believe I left my wallet on top of my car. I mean, a starbucks cup is totally understandable, but my wallet. Well, maybe I can believe it.

Anyway, I'd made three sharp turns, one of them pretty fast (as I tried not to hit this poor Asian couple trying to cross 8th Street, right in front of the church no less). And I'd circled my way down the parking garage ramp. Nobody swiped it as I was waiting for the light at 7th and H. And that place is crawling with pan-handlers begging for a quarter.

I needed that. My faith is weak. I think I have to take care of myself, hold it all together, keep track of my stuff. But God was looking out for me, as He always is. As I force Him to work overtime to do. I think I require two angels these days.

Thanks Jesus. Not for covering my butt this time, but for the reminder that You are ALWAYS doing it, whether I realize it or not.

I love free stuff

I just found out tonight why it is hard for the rich to enter the Kingdom. They don't like free stuff. Or they don't take it anyway.

I was at Whole Foods, treating myself since there's alot I can't eat right now as I recover from adrenal fatigue. My book said, "enjoy your recovery." And I intend to!

In the checkout line, the man in front of me set down asparagus, oranges, soup, red roses, and a lovey-dovey card. I thought, "How sweet." And the checkout lady said, "How sweet."

Then she ran away with a "Wait, I know what she really wants!" leaving the man and I standing there, speculating, waiting, making those two-word semi-witty comments you make to strangers in the checkout line when something unusual happens. (Or not so unusual, like the person in front of you at the self-checkout line getting confused, needing help, taking forever. But I'm not going to get sidetracked in my story by all my checkout line peeves.)

Finally the lady came back with a round clear plastic Whole Foods-ish container. "Grapes and cheese...that is what women really want! Try some." He said they had cheese at home and no thank you. "Oh, just try it. You don't have this at home. She'll love it...it's on the house." Nope, no thank you. We're fine.

What?? Did he understand it was free stuff? You never turn down free stuff, mister (especially gourmet free stuff). FREE...STUFF...

He walked away, and he took away. He took away the joy of giving his wife free stuff, a gift from Whole Foods for their anniversary (I would have been impressed if I were said lucky wife). He took away the checkout lady's joy of recognizing his anniversary and giving him a gift. And he took away my peace of mind because now I felt bad for the lady but was unsure how to make her feel better.

Until she offered it to me. Then we were both happy again. Ha!

As I walked away, I was glowing. And I glowed all the way home. Jesus had just given me free stuff! He had taken from the rich and given to the poor. Those who don't need anything turn down free gifts. They'd rather pay for what they take and not accept charity. Those who are open to charity and to surprises are open to God showing up, in stuff like grapes, and cheese, and stables, and mangers. Lord, open my heart and keep it open.

New eyes

Lord, help me turn my gripes into thankfulness, my negativism into praise. Give me new eyes to see Your good and beautiful gifts all around me.

Beneath a sickly surface

I have a rare opportunity. To be a voice for the sick. Because suddenly I am one, and I want someone to tell my friends for me...

That it has nothing to do with them when I'm irritable and impatient. It's the sickness talking. Or, all my energy is required just to sit up or walk or keep pecking away at my computer til 5:00 and I can crash on my couch, having made it through another day, and I don't have anything left for being nice. Or, I'm actually irritable and impatient with the monster inside that's sucking the life out of me, but somehow it gets taken out on those around me. Or, my world has shrunk so small to how I'm feeling right now and how to take care of myself, that I can't help but be petty.

That I really do feel bad most of the time. When you have the flu, you can't remember what it feels like to have the strength and joy to run around and play outside. When you get better, you can't remember how you felt when you were sick. To understand me, consider that I have the flu all the time, and try to remember what it felt like. You could barely walk from your bed to the bathroom, and all you wanted was to get better (and your mommy).

That sometimes I want someone to ask how I'm feeling, and sometimes I want to be left alone. And I'm sorry if you tried doing one when I wanted the other.

That I hate it that I can't be myself. I'm just sick enough to have lost my vivacity, but not enough not to be painfully aware of its loss. I know you miss me, and I miss me too, which makes it even harder. It's like an out of body experience when I see a person on the sidelines, for example, and *I* know that I would reach out to that person and include him in the conversation but I simply don't have the strength to do it. It's a constant letting go. A constant prioritizing, where stretching my strength too far now will come back to haunt me later (and everyone else). A constant self-preservation. Constant sacrifice. Constant little deaths. How do I keep from becoming self-consumed?

That "showing up" is a victory for me, and sometimes it's all I can offer. The door to the office, the church, the friends' house is the finish line. On a tough day, anything extra is icing.

That I never know what to say to "how are you?" Do they really want to know how I feel right now? Do I really want to explain it? Will it just be a downer and make me feel worse for being negative? It'll probably be awkward in the end, and force me to put on a happy face to rescue the conversation anyway, so maybe it's easier for everyone if I just keep the happy face on from the start. After all, I am happy, I'm just not "fine."

That despair is always lurking. Around every failure of my body or mind. I'm getting used to depending on other people, something I've never been good at. But only to a point. I've always had little patience with my own limitations, which is what landed me with adrenal fatigue* in the first place. Whereas normal was running at 125 percent, the new normal is 75 percent on a very good day. I've always expected perfection of myself, with a few mistakes allowed here and there, the ones that I can rationalize. Now the quota of mistakes has been bumped much higher as I swallow reality, but it's still a quota and is closely tied to a humble heart which often isn't there. One more mistake, let alone one that affects hundreds of people (our church), and I'm a failure with no hope for recovery. I've let myself fall into that hole a few times, and believe me, it is bottomless. But thankfully, so is grace. And the instant that I fi-na-lly receive a free gift--lunch for my birthday, a bowl of popcorn from my roommate, a parking space from God--I melt. And I'm wisked back up into the sunlight with my feet on solid ground.

That I wish they would take care of themselves and not end up like me.

That I may look fine and healthy on the outside, but inside I feel hollow. Consider me the chocolate Easter bunny. I'm just that weak. There's nothing inside of me to draw from. Whatever makes human's "go" is not getting to the right places in my body. My batteries need to be changed. I'm pushing the gas pedal but there's nothing in the tank, regardless of what the meter says.


If none of this is resonating and you think I'm blowing everything out of proportion, just know that these are the tormentings of the sick. This is what is going on just below the surface, but there aren't words, there isn't time, there isn't energy. Somehow simply writing this and sending it into cyberspace makes me feel so much better. This is the real burden I carry, the festering germies.

If this is discouraging, I'm sorry. I'll write the benefits of illness in the next blog, don't worry. It just really helps me to get this off my chest, and I trust I speak for other fellow sickies in turmoil.

[*Severe fatigue, weakness, and low immunity that results from living on adrenaline for too long, to where the adrenal glands are depleted. The best book I've found on the subject is The Hidden Link Between Adrenaline and Stress by Dr. Archibald Hart. I'm happy to answer any questions you have about my symptoms or yours if you think you may have this illness as well.]

Dwarfed

My life is a crazy work of art by God.

Why do you take that time with me?

Why do you care?

Why can't I lose my care for my life in Yours?

Three fingers pointing back at me

We look with disdain on the Iraqis for sqandering their hard-bought freedom, and yet doesn't Jesus' church do the same? He came to set us free from the ruthless dictator of sin and death, although we didn't ask for it, but how often do we live under a dead dictator's thumb? Do we express daily gratitude for precious blood spilt? Do we receive what we've been given and use it responsibly? Do we grow to maturity and imitate our Savior, for our own best interest if nothing else? Do we blame Him for our sufferings, and make Him sorry for saving us, sorry that He ever got involved?

Allowing the helpless to help me

I love living in the city for many reasons, and one of them is that you never know what you're going to see or whom you're going to run into on a given day. Which leads into my mini-adventure of the day, and how I met my angel in disguise.

I'm still very much learning to be more dependent on God and other people. I don't want to impose on others and think I should do everything myself, secretly believing I can. Perhaps that is the reason I lug a heavy box of paper seven blogs uphill once a week to Kinkos (our dear bulletins, Grace peeps), all by myself. Other reasons may include my desire to break the churchlady stereotype with my bulging biceps, my lack of planning, and the fact that Bed Bath & Beyond did not have the correct cart size for my needs (I'm not bitter).

So tonight at 5:00 I set out from the office with a heavier-than-usual box of bulletins and other printed items. I hadn't gone two blocks before even my "one step at a time" mantra failed me. I passed a homeless man who stuck his cup in my face, and I thought, "How insensitive. Doesn't he see the contrast here? I'm sacrificing my body for a nonprofit wage, and he's lying around asking for handouts." And then an idea was born: I should snag some dear homeless person (there are plenty around the office 'hood) to carry my box each week and pay them for it.

Just then, another homeless person, a woman this time, noticed me and was about to ask for spare change when she saw my pained expression and The Heavy Box. She wisked it out of my arms and offered to carry it for me...for a small fee of course was the unspoken understanding between us. I gladly relinquished it, praising God for His help and mind-reading skills.

I'm not sure which abused substance enabled her to carry that box like it was nothing and plow through the crowd so I could barely keep up, but I was not complaining, or preaching for that matter. "I'm gonna work for my money!" she gladly chortled. And I gladly agreed. "I don't do drugs, they kill ya. I just drink beer....I'm gonna carry this mother ___ up the street for you. I'm gonna work for my money." "Yes you are," I laughed. "You are my angel from God today." We made quite a scene in crowded pre-game Chinatown, her loudmouthing obseneties, me praising her strength and laughing at the whole situation.

She found out I worked for a church, and I tried to invite her since we practically passed right by the building we meet in. She can join Gloria, one of our few needy regulars, and maybe bring some friends. Pray for Vanessa...she'd make a fun Christian.

Interesting how when I acknowledge my helplessness and don't struggle against it but look to God to provide, He does, in surprising ways. When my all-sufficiency steps aside, His rushes in to fill the void. I think that's a good trade, don't you?

Where am I?

Sometimes I think I was kidnapped at birth from another universe. Why else would I regularly ask myself questions like who am I? Where am I? How old am I again? What time of year is it? Why do people get so excited about things like football?

That or I've lived alone for too long.